


Sunshine

by brioccoli



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: -Ish, AU, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Jeans pov, Kinda?, M/M, Musician!Jean, Oneshot, Sad, Songfic, Supernatural Elements, Teacher!Marco, meeting in a park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brioccoli/pseuds/brioccoli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a broke college dropout playing his beat-up guitar for change in the park when he finds his sunshine that breaks through the cloudy skies of his life.<br/>"It all started in this park. I was sitting on that bench quietly strumming my guitar when I first saw him: the person who would change my life."<br/>~Jean's PoV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, that summary though. So cheesy I might as well feed it to a mouse. Anyway this is my first published fic, but depending on the response I might publish more.  
> Also I am basically clueless on how to format the html stuff so I apologize for the weirdness of the text. If anyone could explain t to me, that would be great. c:

 

* * *

It all started in this park. I was sitting on that bench quietly strumming my guitar when I first saw him: the person who would change my life.  
It was cloudy, overcast and gray that day, much like my mood. But as he strolled over, the sappy romantic part of me could’ve sworn the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. He approached with a luminous smile and a greeting filled with just as much warmth. He sat beside me which allowed me to get a closer look. Large, slightly worn hands brushed strands of chestnut hair away from his face, which was slightly tanned and had a strong jawline. When he looked over at me, I discovered he had caramel colored eyes twinkling brightly. But the thing that caught my attention was his freckles. It looked like a scattering of stars forming their own constellations or beams of sunlight through a canopy of trees. I was fascinated. So much so, I missed something important.

  
“Hello? You there?” the man I had been so intently studying asked with small grin and amusement in his voice.

“Huh? What?” I mumbled, full of social grace and poise as always.

“Hello, my name is Marco. That’s a nice guitar you have there. Will you play something for me?”

“Uh sure I guess. Got any requests?”

“Nope just play whatever feels right,” the man- no Marco- replied leaning back and putting his hands behind his head with a sigh.

I nodded and on some unknown whim began to play one of my favorite songs from my childhood, and after plucking out the melody I cleared my throat and began to sing,

_“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine….”_

Marco sat up so suddenly I stopped playing and looked at him in confusion.

“Oh sorry,” he said sheepishly. “That’s just a really good song. I haven’t heard it since my mother died... I didn’t particularly expect it from you either. Could you play some more?”

I did finish the song for him and, it turned out not to be the last time I played that song for the man I met in the park. We exchanged numbers and became fast friends, spending more time with each other than our families; well I did anyway. Marco had a little sister to help take care of, so many nights were spent on his living room floor playing with dolls and ponies and grudgingly getting my nails messily painted.

About a year after our meeting, we decided to just skip the moving back and forth between each other’s houses and moved into a small apartment together in a new city near the college Marco was attending. He was studying very hard to become a teacher, and I was so proud of him for it. I was busking around town with my guitar and occasionally getting small gigs at cafes and local bars. Eventually Marco convinced me to try out for one of those music competitions that are always on T.V. and was there to comfort me when I was rejected harshly. I played the song for him again afterwards.

_“You make me happy when skies are gray.”_

I played it for him once again at his graduation after I had watched him walk so proudly up to Dean Shadis for his diploma. He graduated seventh in his class too. Out of hundreds of students, he was seventh. His sister and I were whooping and hollering, and just causing a huge ruckus in general when he was called, but the mega watt smile he flashed at us made it worth the all dirty looks we got.

_“You never know dear how much I love you.”_

I smile pensively as I see him sitting, waiting at our bench. We come back every year to sit and reminisce. Occasionally, I would play a song or two on my new guitar he got me to celebrate the record deal I was awarded and the rising fame of my music. My smile twists into a frown as I recall how the fame went to my head for quite a while, and I seemed to spend less and less time with him.

I start to make my way closer to him and as I do, more memories come flooding in: the wild nights I spent partying with people I didn’t care about; the hurt look on his face when I’d come home later and later; going months at a time without seeing his sunny smile; and lastly when on an extended home vacation with him, the overwhelming panic when I see something he doesn’t, the desperation, the blaring of the horn, screeching of tires, the jolt as my hands make contact and shove, and the sound of sirens. But most of all the pain. So much pain. Everywhere it hurt. But the look on my love’s face filled with tears as it slowly faded out of view was the most painful thing of all.  
I finally reach him, sit next to him on the bench and find he is quietly crying. Not the violent wracking sobs of fresh sorrow, but the silent tears of grief long and deeply felt. Heart-wrenching guilt runs through my body, and I extend my hand to wipe his tears away, to stop them from connecting the dots with his freckles in ways that I never wanted to see, and to brush his hair, now slightly tinged with gray, away from his face. But as my fingers reach toward his sorrowful face, they pass right through like mist.  
I clench my hands in frustration and fury unable to provide comfort to the one I love, and I am forced to be merely a spectator as tears run bright tracks down his face and he brokenly sobs out the last words to our song,

_“P-please don’t t-take my sunshine away…”_

* * *


End file.
